Fuck Sorry, We Need A Better Word
by sallydurant
Summary: Jehan once said that he gets in a space where he feels like he's flying and the earth is moving in time with him. Grantaire just feels tired.


Now Grantaire was, for the first time, the first person at The Musain before the meeting. He remembered only just this morning that Enjolras asked him, a week ago, to design a logo for their club to present to the dean. Well technically Grantaire begged Enjolras to give him a chance to be useful to the group, and that he would do it. He didn't.

"Grantaire." Enjolras walked in the cafe, his eyes already set on his target.

The boy in question winced; this was why he was here. He was ready for fire and brimstone.

"I don't know why I even try at this point." Enjolras sighed and sat next to him. And this was what Grantaire couldn't take. Anger, frustration, even contempt, he could deal with that. Disappointment on the other hand, he could not. "Okay let me here the excuse this time."

Grantaire forced a smile. "A few mates came round and we lost track of time I suppose."

"Drinking?" Grantaire nodded reluctantly. "Every day for the past week?" Another nod. "Grantaire!"

"I forgot okay? I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"No." Enjolras stood, not looking at Grantaire as he walked away. "It won't."

"What's wrong with Grantaire?" Bahorel asked sliding next to Jehan looking at Grantaire who sat in the corner by himself, brooding.

"He's fine."

"I'm sure." Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Come on now. He's been quiet for the entire evening. It's bloody irritating is what it is. I count on him to keep me entertained when we're getting too serious here."

Jehan, who was idly writing a few lines into his notebook which really at this point was just gibberish, sighed and closed it shut. "He's moody. Do you ___really_ want to be around a moody Grantaire?"

"No." Bahorel acquiesced. "I suppose not. What about you little one? Are ___you_ moody?"

Jehan smiled serenely at him. "Do you have anything specific you want to talk about?"

"You always see right through me." Bahorel gave a wry smile and signalled to the waitress. "I'll have a coke, and Jehan here will have a gin and tonic."

When the waitress returned with their drinks Bahorel glanced at Jehan before starting to nurse his soft drink. Jehan idly twirled a lock of his hair as they fell into a comfortable silence.

"My parents want me to stop my hormone therapy."

Jehan paused for a moment before responding. "Why?"

"Embarrassment, fear, nostalgia for the little girl they never actually had, who even knows. They do this every few months. They threaten to not pay for it in the hopes that I'll agree with them and come off of it. I know they'll never actually do it and it's just words but why do they have to be such fuckwits all the time?"

"What do you usually do when your parents act out like this?"

"Go to the gym and kick someone's ass. I can't do that today since Friday is the only day I can come to these meetings. Mondays I have fight club, and Wednesdays I have to the trans* support group at the college. Honestly how many meetings a week can you people have? In any case I don't really want to miss any of my meetings, so here I am venting to you my dear fiery headed poet."

"You can kick my ass if you want?" Jehan supplied.

"How about I pick on someone my own size?"

"Whatever you choose," Jehan grinned devilishly. "You probably couldn't take me anyway."

Bahorel chortled and looked over at his other friends. Enjolras was sitting with most of them at the largest table in The Musain, feverishly talking in fast paced whispers. Combeferre was yawning and wiping her glasses, yet still dutifully listening to Enjolras speak. Feuilly was alternating between texting and watching Enjolras. Courfeyrac had his attention solely focussed on his phone, yet he still occasionally chimed in when Enjolras gave them room to talk. Joly was falling asleep on Bossuet's shoulder while Bossuet listened to Enjolras attentively. They didn't look like they were finishing anytime soon.

"Wanna get out of here and get stoned?"

"Of course" Jehan replied "Wait! Let me get R. He always has the good stuff."

Bahorel and Jehan walked down the pavement arm in arm, while Grantaire trailed behind them, his hands busy typing.

"Who the hell are you even texting?" Bahorel rolled his eyes glancing behind. "Stop acting like a twelve year old girl maybe?"

"Go fuck yourself." Grantaire pocketed his phone and hurried next to them. "You guys don't even understand how much I need this. I've been sober for the entire day and I feel like dying."

"I can hear the yells of ___I don't have a problem_ from miles away, but you have a problem." Bahorel sniggered.

"Oh shut up. I'm going to get you two wasted. The least you can show is a little appreciation."

"He does have a point." Jehan hummed quietly.

"I always do." Grantaire grinned as they got to his and Jehan's flat.

"Fuck-Like fuck sorry man. We need a better word. Everyone says sorry but do they even know what it means? It's like that street. Surrey. Sorry. It's like the same thing really. It's just long and pointless."

"What the fuck is he on about?" Grantaire chuckled into Jehan's shoulder.

They were all sprawled out next to each other passing a spliff between the three. Grantaire managed to tell them how he disappointed Enjolras yet again, downed almost a quarter bottle of whiskey and rolled a spectacular joint within the space of ten minutes. It didn't take them too long to get blitzed after that.

"I like Bahorel when he's high." Jehan snorted unattractively as Bahorel waved his hand in front of his face. "He's funny."

"Yeah. Yeah." Grantaire sighed. "Should he even be smoking that?" He gestured to the joint that was in Bahorel's hand.

"Not really. He doesn't do it often but he had a tough day too so we'll let him indulge this once."

Grantaire nodded and looked at his phone screen silently and Jehan looked at the ceiling. They both got incredibly mellow when they were high. Jehan once said that he gets in a space where he feels like he's flying and the earth is moving in time with him. Grantaire just feels tired.

Very, very tired

Jehan woke up before everyone else at four in the morning, his head on Bahorel's stomach. He moved slowly so as to not to wake his still sleeping partner. Luckily their flat wasn't too much of a mess. Bahorel was sprawled across the floor, and Grantaire had relocated to the couch, so the only thing that was on the floor really was the blanket that had fallen off of Grantaire, his phone and the empty bottle of whiskey. Jehan pondered on making breakfast, but decided on buying something when he woke up. He was about to head to bed when Grantaire's phone buzzed. Jehan picked it up without a second thought and read the incoming message.

**Grantaire:** m'really fucking sorry

**Grantaire:** i'll make it up to u. i promise.

**Enjolras:** I know.

Jehan put Grantaire's phone on the coffee table and covered him properly with the blanket. He kissed Bahorel on the forehead before going to his bedroom and collapsing on his bed.

* * *

I just wrote this as some weird kind of unbeta'd catharsis when I was feeling down, so I'm not actually sure if it's good enough, but I hope it was okay.


End file.
